Rewind: a Rose and Scorpius FanFic
by 1.MrsScorpiusMalfoy.2
Summary: Have you ever had a moment where you just want to reword what you said, take back what you didn't mean, and just...rewind it all? If you've ever read Harry Potter 7, felt like that, or have ever been in love...click the link up there. :o


I just wanna say suggestions are SO SO SO SO SO appreciated. Also, tell me if you want me to continue or not, I'd love help in that department too. This is a Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy FanFic, which I really enjoyed writing and was originally part of a bigger story-my version of Harry Potter 7. I'll consider posting that later; for now I need you to review this and tell me if it's something worth going off of. Shank you. :)

Chapter 1  
Fight in the Owlery

There was one boy in his 7th year at Hogwarts, a member of Ravenclaw house, who, upon spotting a student giddily ascending a staircase or trudging bitterly through a crowd, claimed he could tell exactly where

they had been, where they were going, and their age. When the beautiful young redheaded witch walking quickly and confidently down a hallway passed through his line of vision, a group of first year admirers

crowded as close to him as possible as they waited impatiently for his revelation. "Was in the Gryffindor dormitory, going to the owlery, 3rd year," the words slipped coolly from his lips, and the tiny students'

mouths formed small "o" shapes. Several inhaled in awe, and a few love-struck girls fluttered their eyelashes and applauded his skill, hoping for a smile or a laugh in response. The girl he had just analyzed didn't

care for him and his bigheaded bragging. "Hey, Rosie! Am I right?" He leapt up smoothly from the marble bench, waiting to hear if he was correct, but Rose Weasley turned her button nose up, tightened her grip

on her schoolbooks, and quickly strode towards the stairs. He was, of course; she would just rather drop dead than admit that he was right so she could watch his smile curl into a smirk in the most self-righteous

way. Reaching the start of the long climb up, she had one hand on the cold stone banister, wrapping her robes tighter around her small figure as she rose; the windows along the stairs had an obvious lack of

curtains, which chilled you to the bone during the freezing first few weeks of December. In her hand was a small parchment scrap where her objective was written in beautifully familiar penmanship. By the time she

was in the owlery, as the note directed, the ice had set in and her blood ran cold. The brick floor, which was covered in frost and feathers, crunched under her light-footed walk as she approached the figure in

black leaning against the open windowpane. A few strands of white blonde hair peeked out from the shadow of a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His knuckles gripped the stone so tightly the tips were

a bright, bone white, and his breathing was shallow, slow, anxious, and worried-sounding, as if anticipating his own death. For a moment she was afraid to speak, afraid that the sudden sound of her clear, musical

voice would startle him enough for him to lose his balance and topple over the edge, but he turned to face her then. On his lips was a half smile, and the look of joy on his face eased most of her worry. What didn't

was how as she moved closer, it became harder to separate elation from guilt in the molten metallic pools in his eyes. Withdrawing one of his hands from the warmth of his pockets, he ran his toasty fingers

against her pinking cheeks, smoothed a few thick, flyaway strands of her ginger hair, and then rested his arm around her, pulling her into his cloak with him. She buried her nose in his shoulder, inhaling the sharp,

clean smell of his Slytherin house shirt, a harmonious combination of the soft warmth of fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes and pine needles. They didn't speak a word the first few minutes of being together. They

simply sat on the top of the stone wall, watching the snow fall, watching the first years skid around on the icy pathways, watching smoke billow and curl from distant chimneys. "So," he finally exhaled. "So…" she

repeated, lifting her jovial green eyes up to meet his staid silver ones. "I really need to talk to you." She nodded. Those were not the words Rose had expected, and they pierced her ears like red-hot needles. She

felt the metaphorical blood drip down her face as she waited in the cold, still silence for him to speak. "I'm in trouble," he started slowly, "my dad. He…Rose, he found out about us." "Scorpius…you, you're not…" he

seemed to read her mind. Blinking once, his eyes turning more frozen and distant, he parted his lips. "I have no other choice. I really regret this." Rose stood, shedding his cloak and arm. Strong gusts of the bitter

wind suddenly blew through the owlery, stinging them with the cold. "_What_? Scorpius, you can't do this. Why are you doing this?" Her temper flared, her fiery personality burning bright and in his face like embers

from a newly-kindled blaze. Scorpius shot her a pleading, desperate look, his silver eyes turning blue with slight moisture from the blizzard whipping in his face. He didn't move from the windowsill as Rose, enraged

and poised for arguing, stood before him, shouting words out of anger and confusion, attempting to hit the bullseye of his heart with her darts and make him change his mind. "How? How could you do this, why,

why are you doing this, do you hate me? Is that it? Do you find some type of sick satisfaction in hurting me?" He was in front of her in an instant, a full head taller, who could overpower her instantly. But his chosen

weapon was identical to hers; words, not hands or wands, which could easily snap her wrist, hold her throat shut, or spread pain and poison wherever he so desired. But Scorpius, unlike his father, Draco Malfoy,

was a gentle soul, smiling and sweet, who would never even think once about laying hands or curses on anyone. "You know that's not true." His voice was dark, heavy; his way of speaking subtly hid a hint that

Rose was about to cross the horsehair fine line between toleration and losing his temper without even realizing what harsh words flew out of his mouth. Rose raised her fist. He lifted his hand and grabbed it,

preventing any type of attack. "WHAT are you DOING?" Scorpius' eyes were no longer silver, or sky blue, but navy, tinged with black. "We're not fighting here!" he cried, and Rose, trembling from the outburst,

reached out and shoved him. "I don't care what you have to say anymore! You hurt me, I hurt you! An eye for an eye!" "Makes the whole world blind!" He screamed, gripping her arms as tight as he could,

dragging her tiny feet along the icy ground until he reached the white hole of the window, where it showcased perfectly the blizzard dancing around outside. Rose glanced down at the grounds, hundreds of feet

below her shoes, with sheer panic, sensing what was to come but hoping with all of her strength that it wouldn't. She hunched her shoulders up to her ears, blocking herself from any attack from above, and

screamed, her mouth open as far as it could go. The piercing sound, that could easily shatter glass, caused birds to stop flying, people to stop laughing, and Scorpius to release his hold. "What did I just do?" he

whispered to himself, maintaining his composure. Rose was just as, if not more, shocked than Scorpius. Her pale hands shook, her eyes wide, her tiny bow mouth gaping. "I never want to see your face again," she

muttered, and he attempted to reach out and hold her. It was a useless attempt at any type of comfort. "Get away from me." Her whisper was filled with equal doses of poison and ice. "I-I didn't mean to." "I

NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN!" Rose bawled, throwing herself at the brick, as far away as she could be from Scorpius, her green eyes brilliant from crying. "I HATE YOU!" "WHY ARE YOU OVERREACTING?"

Scorpius' blood was starting to boil, his eyes slowly turning back to their normal color, his cheeks paling. "I didn't do anything wrong! You're just a worthless, spoiled little brat." "I'm worthless? I'm spoiled? HOW

COULD YOU SAY THAT?" "EASILY!" "BUT I LOVED YOU." Her last statement was a piteous cry; for help, for love, for a second chance. "You've never followed what your father said before. His rules, his opinions…they

never mattered. Why start listening now? I…need you…" She closed her eyes, whimpered. A single tear fell from behind the lid and rolled down her cheek, which was now red from an even combination of cold and

anger. "You're an idiot." He glared at her until she looked up before continuing. "Selfish, immature, incompetent mudblood who's so pathetic as to want to throw herself off of the owlery just because I "broke her

heart" or "ruined her life" in teenage girl language." This caused Rose to suck in a measured, heated breath. "What?" She said, and her eyes flicked up to glare deep into his. "What are you talking about? YOU

tried to PUSH me." He rewrapped himself in his cloak, straightened his tie, and ran a hand through his hair, all slowly, fluidly, mysteriously. "That's not what I'm going to tell everyone. Good riddance." He watched

her reaction carefully, weighing in his mind whether or not he should have said that as the color drained from her face. All emotion was gone from her eyes, as if he had blown out the candle of hope that glowed

there in the window, replaced by a blackened wick and hopelessness. Knowing he couldn't take back what he had just told her, he hid his face, which was slowly becoming streaked with tears, from Rose, turned

on the heel of his polished black shoe, and walked out. He was gone in a flash of green, black and blonde, and Rose was left with nothing but the faint scent of pine needles and the dark hole where her heart

used to be.

**Rewind: 4 months earlier.**


End file.
